


Black Frost

by WerewolvesAreReal



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Five Year Mission, Hypothermia, M/M, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:25:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4806182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WerewolvesAreReal/pseuds/WerewolvesAreReal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Spock's shuttle is lost on what should be a quick survey Jim abandons the Enterprise to go after him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Frost

Technically speaking, the Enterprise is scheduled to arrive at Delta Neva VI in four days to rendezvous with the USS _Forfeiture,_ who will take the Enterprise's cargo of medicine to a plague-ridden world.

But they are only three days out from the rendezvous point, and Spock is curious about one of the planets in a system the _Enterprise_ is passing. Upon closer examination, the rest of the science department quickly gains an equal enthusiasm for the subject.

The planet is class-M and capable of supporting standard humanoid life, but it almost shouldn't be. Its orbit around its local star is unusually close, but the planet itself – based on scans and a probe that is sent at the urging of the astrophysics department – seems to be relatively cool at all hours.

“There is a standard oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere,” Spock informs Jim. “There are unusual levels of carbon and methane in the planet's ozone layer, but not enough to account for this effect or it's relatively temperate climate.”

“Relatively?”

“At it's hottest points, the planet is 15 degrees Celsius on average; the poles are too cold for most humanoids.”

Through the viewscreen Jim eyes the looming planet with something like resignation. “Mr. Spock, am I going to find myself regretting it if I let you investigate?” The Murasaki 312 incident comes to mind.

“Given the electric storms around the planet's surface, and radiation-interference caused by the sun's proximity it would not be prudent to even attempt a landing, Sir. Transport beaming would also be ineffectual. I merely suggest sending a shuttle to conduct closer scans than the Enterprise could attempt – it should take no more than several hours.”

Jim nods slowly. “There shouldn't be a problem with that. And – who will take the shuttle?”

“I will collect the data personally,” Spock assures.

“Alone?” Jim teases. “Ensign Faihi would probably be glad to go with you - “

Spock tilts his head, distinctly unimpressed. He is well aware of the ensign's amorous intentions. “I believe she is not working today,” he deadpans.

More seriously, Jim asks, “Really, though, no copilot?”

“I will be better able to focus on the task in solitude.”

Translation: Spock would appreciate the time to indulge in his curiosity alone without baby-sitting one of his junior officers. Jim weighs the request. It is technically allowable by regulations, but not recommended. Still, if the mission only lasts a few hours...

“Alright. It will take the _Forfeiture_ the full four days to get to the rendezvous – but we can't afford to be late. I want you back on the ship by 1800 hours.”

“Understood, Sir.”

* * *

 

After his shift Jim returns to his quarters and drifts around the room, sweeping his fingers over old possessions. The sense of nostalgia that rises within him is unexplainable. He lets his eyes linger over a picture of his late brother Sam, who is laughingly hugging his pregnant wife Aurelan around the waist against the backdrop of Iowan cornfields. The picture-frame was a gift from Spock, who does not give gifts often; that makes it all the more precious.

There is a Vulcan robe hanging by his bed that always makes him smile to see – the robe he wore just several months ago, during the covert bonding on the dusty planet of Spock's birth. Only McCoy knows of their connection, for the moment – Jim somewhat looks forward to explaining the whole marriage to Command. The alien silk is smooth to the touch, interrupted only by shining Vulcan script.

He walks around to the table in the center of the room. His fingers caress the cold curve of his tri-d chess board. He reaches out to toy with the king, then sweeps out his fingers to touch a pawn, a rook, a knight...

There is a buzz at the door, and Jim looks up. He steps away from the board, straightening his shirt. “Come in.”

Leonard McCoy enters the room, frowning as though he expects to see something different. “The hell were you thinking?” He asks. “Why would you send Spock down to that planet? We're on a tight schedule.”

“I didn't send Spock anywhere. He went to fly around the _vicinity_ of the planet, closer than the _Enterprise_ can look under these conditions.”

“Useless plate of tin.”

“Don't let Scotty hear you say that,” Jim laughs, knowing Bones doesn't mean it. “He'll be back soon. Anyway, shouldn't you be preparing the medicine for the _Forfeiture?”_

“Done and done. No preparations needed. I swear, Jim, it's a damn shame what some of these colonies are reduced to. We take so many things for granted, but take away our technology and we're as helpless against the common flu as the wrong end of a phaser.”

“This isn't the flu we're talking about, though.”

“No, but it might as well be. The cure for this disease was found over thirty years ago – they just didn't have the means to produce it. Or identify it in time to get word to us, for that matter. It's a damn waste, Jim, all those people dead.”

Jim nods soberly – he has intimate experience with the dangers of colony planets. He addresses the real reason McCoy has come here. “We'll get there, Bones. This won't hold us up, don't worry.”

“It better not,” The doctor warns. “I can understand the appeal of a new discovery, Jim – but that Vulcan's curiosity is going to get someone killed one of these days.”

Two hours later sees both Dr. McCoy and Jim himself on the bridge. It is Beta-shift and technically Lieutenant-Commander DeSalle is scheduled to have the bridge. “No word yet?” Jim asks.

“No, Captain. Commander Spock should have been back in range by now.”

Jim knows this. “Helmsman, can you bring us in closer?”

Ensign Travisky eyes her controls with apprehension. “I can, Sir,” she says. “But with that electrical storm it would be a risk. And tricky flying.”

“Call up Lieutenant Sulu.”

Sulu is the best pilot, and Travisky doesn't seem offended. Which is good – Jim doesn't have time to comfort hurt feelings.

Sulu appears within a few minutes and doesn't seem quite so concerned about the prospect of flying nearer to the planet, but he does caution the captain. “That radiation could damage our engines, Sir. We can't get too close.”

“Would Spock know about the danger?”

“Sure. But the shuttle's smaller, he'd have an easier time avoiding the electrical storm.”

“Say he couldn't avoid it?”

“I'm sure he kept a good distance. And he could still contact us if there was a problem – we have more shuttles that could perform retrieval.”

But there is no contact, of course.

Uhura's Beta-shift replacement, Lieutenant Kita, is searching carefully for signals and broadcasting their own alert so Spock knows the Enterprise is actively attempting to reach him. There is no response.

Jim rubs slowly at the arm of his command chair. DeSalle is standing awkwardly by the rarely-used engineering console. Abruptly, Jim asks, “Those radiation levels are as expected, Lieutenant Slaski?”

“Yes Sir,” says the wide-eyed man standing by the science console. He's practically swaying on his heels, long and thin in his science-blues. “No unexpected surges.”

“Then why isn't Commander Spock answering?” Jim snaps.

“I – I don't know, Sir.”

“Jim,” says McCoy lowly.

Jim takes a breath, but he doesn't apologize. He needs to be patient. They all need to be patient. Logically, he tells himself, Spock should be fine – there's no reason he won't be. And all anyone can do now is wait.

\- Unfortunately, they don't really have the opportunity to wait.

An hour later, Lieutenant Kita says, “Sir? We're being hailed.”

Jim, who has been sagging against the arm of his chair, jerks upright. “Is it Spock?” he snaps. But he knows the answer immediately; if it were Spock, she would have said so.

“It's Commodore Lagos, Sir.”

“ - Onscreen.”

The Commodore's weathered, lined face creases with weariness as soon as he looks at Jim. “Captain Kirk. I've just received your report on the loss of your First Officer.”

“I haven't lost anyone, Commodore. Perhaps my report was worded poorly – or perhaps you need to read it again.”

“I could have phrased that better. But it will have to be a temporary loss, Captain. The _Enterprise_ needs to get moving. Those people on Delta Neva are counting on it.”

“I understand that,” Jim says. “We're going to make the rendezvous. But we owe it to Spock to stay until the last possible second so we can bring him with us.”

“Kirk. You know he might not be answering for a reason.”

“We're going to find him.”

“You don't know that,” says the Commodore gently. “I'm sorry to say this, Kirk – but he could be dead.”

“He isn't.”

“If the ship isn't answering - “

“He _isn't,”_ Jim snaps. “I would know. I would feel it.”

The Commodore looks concerned, apologetic, and also sincerely concerned for Jim's mental well-being. He's not being unreasonable, really, which is all the more galling.  
“I'm sure it feels that way, but the fact is - “

“The fact is we're married,” Jim says. “In the Vulcan manner – and I can feel him. He's alive. I _know.”_

This statement is worth an entirely different kind of silence, one which McCoy, thankfully, breaks. “That's true enough,” McCoy says. “I was there when it happened, Commodore. Though I suppose I can't verify the bond,” he adds, with an apologetic glance toward the captain. “But if he says Spock's alive, I believe him.”

Lagos mulls this over. “...I've never much... understood Vulcan bonds,” he says diplomatically. “...I suppose it's possible he could be alive.”

Jim squares his shoulders and narrows his eyes.

“But that's still beside the point,” Lagos says. “You can't afford to be late. I'll make it an order if I must, Captain. Break off your search. Take the Enterprise to the rendezvous point immediately. You don't have the time for this. Every life matters, Kirk, and Starfleet cares about what happens to Commander Spock as well – but we have to prioritize.”

McCoy looks between Lagos and Jim.

“You're right,” Jim agrees slowly. “...We don't have the time. And the people on Delta Neva are... more important.”

There are more of them, anyway. The good of the many. That is a Vulcan philosophy – that is the argument Spock would make -

Relief shines in the Commodore's face. “I'm sorry, Captain, but you know the facts. Look, you can turn the _Enterprise_ around as soon as you deliver the medicine. Vulcans are hardy, Kirk - “

“He didn't even have _supplies,”_ Jim blurts out bleakly.

There's a long pause. “ - Six days, there and back. He'll make it, Jim.”

The viewscreen cuts to a placid vista of stars.

Jim clutches uselessly at the arms of his chair and stares into the distance. “Mr. Sulu?”

Sulu's voice is cautious. “Sir?”

“Take us out of orbit... in twenty minutes. Exactly. I – have something to attend to, first.”

“Aye, Sir.” Sulu does not question him.

And, rising, Jim flees the bridge.

* * *

 

He goes to his quarters first, though there is really no time to waste. He grabs a bag and stuffs it swiftly with a few changes of clothes, grabs the Vulcan robe hanging by his bed for good measure, and darts between the shared bathroom to grab Spock's own meditation robe from his quarters. Passing crewmen stare as he exits the First Officer's at a swift lope, half-full bag in hand.

The shuttlebay is empty when Jim arrives. Aside from shuttles there are packs of emergency supplies in a cache behind one of the walls; a simple command-override negates the usual protocols necessary to access these.

The bag is full to bursting. Jim selects a shuttle – the Galileo Seven. There is a certain justice to that, he thinks.

“Computer, recognize override Captain James T. Kirk.”

_“Override recognized.”_

“Computer, ignore commands from anyone below the rank of 'Commander' for fifteen minutes.”

The first officer would have his own override, so usually Jim would actually have a difficult time with this sort of situation. There are balances in place to prevent captains from going power mad. But there are no commanders on the ship - at the moment.

_“Commands are being ignored.”_

For a moment – too long, really, and the seconds are slipping away – Jim lets his foot hover over the edge of the precipice. He stares at the door of the _Galileo_ and sees his life stretching behind him, before him. The gold rank-stripes on his sleeves tell their own story. He is the youngest captain in Starfleet. He is young. And he has a life ahead of him.

A bond thrums at the back of his mind – gentle, alive, alive, alive – and he decides: he will not live that life alone.

He steps into the shuttle and lets the doors hiss shut behind him.

The docking bay opens and the stars are spread out before him. Jim clutches the shuttle's controls and inches her slowly, carefully, into the abyss.

But here something goes wrong:

Jim has miscalculated the speed of the shuttle, the distance of the storm, the time it took for him to flee to his quarters and agonize over his decision in the shuttle-bay. By the time control is returned on the bridge of the Enterprise he is not yet 'safely' within the web of the electrical storm that will prevent the Enterprise from reaching him. He understands this with resignation, and expects something: a transporter beam, a call, perhaps even another shuttle sent at his back.

...They do not try to stop him.

* * *

 

Jim cannot see the Enterprise leave in his sensors, but he is sure that it does; he has given this order himself and Scotty will see that it is carried out, cursing him all the way, he is sure. When the Enterprise is out of range he turns his focus to a more important matter – the electrical storms surrounding the unnamed planet.

There are what might be called 'gaps' where Jim can fly through safely, but it is like navigating through a deadly, ever-shifting maze. He begins to understand Sulu's apprehension more fully as he eyes the readouts on the control panel. And even as he flies, he has to multitask.

Jim is scanning the planet's surface for Spock.

Theoretically, Spock could be lost somewhere in the electrical storm. But Jim knows that this is untrue in the same way that he knows Spock is even alive. The pulse of their bond is leading Jim inexorably onward, pulling him along some unseen, unheard trail right to the planet's heart.

What Jim finds, eventually, disturbs him.

There is a life-sign on the planet, faint and unmoving. Though the storm, coupled with the planet's own gravitational pull and atmosphere, has distorted the signature, it is still recognizable as predominantly Vulcan. But the readings are strange – the pulse weak, the temperature cold – and the signal is coming from closer to one of the extreme ends of the planet. Up toward the North, to be exact.

Most of the planet is positively temperate. Trust Spock, Jim thinks with despair, to land in the one inhospitable section on the world.

Still, there is nothing to do but aim his shuttle in that direction.

All he needs to do now is fly down, land the shuttle, and pick up Spock. Presumably Spock's own transport has been damaged, so Jim will fly the _Galileo_ to a more remote part of the planet where they can wait for the _Enterprise_ to return -

Suddenly the shuttle starts to tremble. A sudden jolt lurches Jim from his seat, almost sending him careening into the viewscreen. The emergency lights flare and he scrambles for the shuttle controls, staring down at the read-outs.

He can't make sense of what's happening – according to every sensor display he has, the section of space the shuttle is occupying should be perfectly clear. An aggressive shudder of the vessel belays this idea, though.

Jim has to fight with the controls – they don't want to respond. Movements are jerky and awkward. The _Galileo_ is listing. Something must be damaged -

There is a horrible shrieking sound as the engine goes, and the _Galileo_ is left flying solely on the power of inertia.

This is a dangerous thing. Jim wonders if the inertial dampeners are not malfunctioning too – just a little. He isn't prone to space-sickness, but his stomach is clenching and roiling.

The _Galileo_ breaks into the planet's atmosphere and there's no stopping her. Deceleration is a possibility, though, and Jim swears as he struggles to pull the shuttle into the most winding, gradual fall he can manage – even if he'll be on fire as it goes down. There's a good chance he's going to die right on impact.

And, during the whole fall, he keeps one eye on a certain map and a lifesign that blinks with undeniable signs of vitality.

* * *

 

There is a long moment upon waking where Jim expects to hear Bones yelling in his ear about the latest foolhardy-stunt he's pulled. He thinks he feels the crisp cloth of Sickbay sheets – imagines the green under his eyelids is actually the Sickbay walls.

Then he realizes he is lying in the crushed remnants of a shuttle, sprawled and bleeding, and he wonders where the away-team is. He reaches down for his communicator and doesn't find it. He thinks about the Enterprise and tries to remember if she is safe. This is when he knows.

He has the presence of mind to look for the sensor-map in the shuttle. This, at least, is one of the few portions of the vessel which is still functional. He sighs in relief. He doesn't remember much of the descent but it seems he had some control – he is less than eight kilometers away from Spock. It could be much worse.

Jim retrieves his bag, taking out a spare shirt and covering himself with another layer of protection against the weather. Then he takes a moment to lean against the wall of the shuttle and regain his breath. His legs are trembling with fatigue. He braces himself, then steps outside.

The cold descends on him like a wall. The shuttle doors groan shut, and Jim takes his first tentative steps across a long, snow-covered expanse that stretches as far as his eyes can see.

It is a continuous, fruitless effort. The pounding in his head slows his movements; the snow clings to his feet. In the distance, the sun glints off the untarnished blanket of white that spreads into the horizon.

Jim isn't sure that any animals have evolved yet to live on this planet. On one hand small mammals could provide a source of food; on the other hand, any animals could prove dangerous. But here, in this icy wasteland, it doesn't seem like an immediate concern. He concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other, shivering.

It takes perhaps two hours until he estimates he is in the right location – and longer, still, to begin approximating a search. Starfleet training has taught Jim how to judge distances and time, but finding Spock with information housed on a shuttle eight kilometers away is somewhat beyond him.

The area here is low and craggy, letting into the beginning of an outlet into the sea. But near to the shore the surface is nearly iced over; a small film of water rises to lap at the top.

In the distance, over the haze of silvery-blue and white, Jim sees a blot of color on the horizon. A black shape and a glint of deeper blue, frosted over.

His heart clenches.

In the horrible cold, which numbs his ears and throat and lips, Jim can barely hear his own shouts. “Spock?” he calls. When the figure does not move, still lying in a useless slump, he wonders if he is mistaken. “Spock?”

He moves.

And, he is not mistaken. This becomes clear as the form grows closer. What also becomes clear is that Spock is in dire, dire condition.

When Jim is standing over him, he bends down to shake Spock alert; but the Vulcan does not respond. He is lying with his face pressed against the ground. The back of his neck is tinted a dim green and shining with coldness. This is a good sign, Jim tells himself fervently; in more extreme cases of cold, the blood pulse slows and draws inward. This is how frostbite occurs, and Spock has not reached that stage.

Not yet.

“Spock, get up,” Jim pleads.

Finally, there is a response. Spock starts to shift against the slushy ice. Jim reaches down to help, pulling him up by one arm. Spock releases a low exhalation that might be an attempt at a word.

“We have to go.”

“Jim?”

“It gets warmer South of here,” Jim says. He can barely think, but he knows he needs desperately to get Spock out of this cold. “Come on. You have to walk.”

“Perhaps later,” Spock murmurs. His eyes are closing and fluttering back open as he tries to focus on Jim. “If I can meditate... or enter a healing trance, perhaps...”

Instead of answering, Jim says, “Your lips are gray.”

Spock pauses. It seems to take awhile for this statement to fully register. But at last he nods slowly. “ - You will have to lead,” he says.

So Jim does.

He is worried, though he says nothing. Vulcans should be able to endure the cold even better than humans so long as they can maintain conscious control of their physiological systems – Spock has endured snow and extreme conditions before. But not, perhaps, like this. Jim sees a spot of blood crusting the side of Spock's head too. But he will think of that when they have shelter.

When they are out of the water and Spock seems semi-dry Jim gives him four more layers of clothes. But Jim's spare shirts hang off his lanky frame like sheets. And Spock's desert-robe is not made for snow. The material is light and airy, suitable for keeping out intrusive sand and doing little else. At Spock's insistence Jim wears his own Vulcan-style robe reluctantly. They must look like quite a sight.

The bag is much lighter now, and the rest of their supplies seem painfully sparse.

They keep moving, though. It seems they have always been moving, and it seems to take Spock a dreadfully long time to turn to Jim and ask, “The ship?”

Jim doesn't have the heart to tell him. “We just need to keep walking,” he says. “We can't be here. Can you do that?”

Spock's shoulders slump minutely – as though some small part of him had truly expected Jim to whip out a communicator and call out the ship at his reminder. “Yes, Sir. Of course.”

When Jim spots the cave, over an hour later, he thinks he might be hallucinating.

“Come on. We can rest... Just for a few minutes. Maybe it will be warm - “

Spock doesn't look like he believes this, but he lets Jim pull him along. They stumble together through the snow until they make their way into what is less of a cave and more of a rocky hollow set into a hill. But it is deep enough to suffice for their purposes, offering some small shelter from the wind and a place to curl together for heat after a small amount of snow is pushed out.

But Jim wonders if it is a good idea to stop at all when they sit and Spock droops down beside him, curling his limbs placidly against Jim. Where he tucks his head into Jim's neck the human feels like there is a sculpture of ice clinging to his skin.

Vulcans have a lower body temperature, true. But this is concerning.

Extreme cold is not a common problem on Vulcan, where the opposite – heat – is a more likely enemy. Spock does not tremble with the cold. His muscles lack the necessary reflexes. Jim runs his hands over Spock's arm, then down to his uncovered hand, and sees gooseflesh rise over the skin. But this is a useless reaction. It does not help anything.

Spock's neck is no longer green.

“Are you awake?” Jim asks. This is hard – his own teeth are jumping and trembling around in his jaw. Spock rolls his head to the side with a strange, apathetic lethargy that alarms him. Spock should never be apathetic.

The word, “Clearly,” reassures him a bit, but not much.

Jim reaches up and starts to rub at the ear closest to him. This makes Spock watch him blankly. “They're going gray – dark gray. That's a sign of hypothermia in Vulcans. Isn't it?”

Spock looks down. When Jim follows the gaze he inhales sharply. The very tips of Spock's fingers are discolored as well. “I cannot focus,” Spock says, half-apologetic. “When the shuttle fell, it was disorienting, and the cold began immediately - “

“I know,” Jim soothes. He looks at the gash on Spock's head again; he is not sure if Spock is aware of it. It has already been soaked in snow and ice, and there is certainly no treatment Jim can offer. He does not mention it.

Jim slowly reaches over and strokes Spock's hair with one hand; the stiff strands resist him, stuck together with a layer of moist frost. Jim adjusts his body in a futile effort to wrap himself more fully around the Vulcan.

“We do need to sleep,” Spock says against his neck.

Jim thinks he imagines that the words sound slurred. Hopes so.

“Just don't sleep long, alright?” Jim asks. “ - Promise me.”

Spock agrees quietly and falls silent.

Jim tries not to rest; but eventually he, too, succumbs to the pull of fatigue.

* * *

 

It may be a long time before they awake. How long is impossible to gauge, but it is not restlessness nor any internal clock that wakes Jim at last. Only this; Jim is in a small space, with Spock, and Spock is cold.

Spock is very, very cold, and he is also not moving.

Jim jerks upright and starts shaking his arms roughly, twisting around in the small space allotted to the pair in an effort to grip Spock around the shoulders. “Wake up,” he says. “Wake up, please, wake up, wake up - “

Spock's mouth gapes open for a moment – the inside is dry and rimmed with wrong colors. Jim's insides roll with nausea. He wants to gag. This, for nothing. He cannot have this. He does not want to watch Spock go. He does not want -

Spock stirs. He tilts up his head, bobbing and blinking blearily. “Jim?” he asks. “You are alarmed. Has something happened?”

Jim breathes out a laugh of relief.

“I – no,” Jim lies. He searches for an excuse. “ - I just. I have food. You should eat.”

He searches through the half-forgotten bag so that this is not a lie. There are, in fact, small packets of food. Spock seems utterly disinterested.

“As a Vulcan,” he begins.

“Don't start that with me, Mister,” Jim warns. “As a Vulcan you need to keep up your energy – the same as any human. Eat.”

And it says everything, doesn't it, how meekly Spock obeys?

But Jim doesn't let his worry show. He tries to inject a note of command into his voice. “Get up. We need to keep walking – the weather gets warmer quickly, South of here. It does.”

Spock doesn't seem to register this directive for a moment. Finally he starts to stand, but it takes Jim's assistance to pull him to his feet. Jim grits his teeth as his legs protest the movement and blood rushes to cramped limbs. Spock stumbles.

“If you can regulate your internal temperature,” Jim continues -

“Not enough,” says Spock tiredly. It is reassuring to hear him talk, but the words are not a comfort. “Focus – is returning, but there are limits to what the body can do. I can stave off some symptoms of hypothermia for a few hours, perhaps. No more than that.”

Jim wants to tell him to dispel the grayish tinge around his fingers, his ears, his lips – but Spock will best understand how to prioritize the good of his own body. He curls his tongue over these words and says nothing more.

It seems even harder to move today, if that is possible. Spock has his fingers jammed under his arms. His breathing was fast yesterday; today his breaths puff out to disappear like soft clouds of mist in the air, but they are slow, small, and infrequent. He seems tired.

Frostbite will soon be a serious concern for Jim, too – and he wishes he had had the foresight to bring gloves and coats, blankets, cold-weather gear, but this planet is supposed to be habitable. All but the poles. All but the one area they are traversing, and which still stretches before them with a dizzying sense of magnitude.

“You remember,” Jim pants, “Last month, on Alteran IV – do you remember how that ambassador's daughter, she kept coming up to Bones and trying to convince him to stay with her?”

“Blue eyes are... coveted, on Alteran IV, Captain.”

“And I think he was even a bit flattered,” Jim continues, “Until she kept talking about how nice the quarters were for the 'model servants' and he realized she wasn't flirting with him.”

“It was an offer meant with the best of intentions,” Spock demurs.

Jim tries to huff out a laugh. A burst of air puffs out visibly from his lips, lighting up icy white against his cheeks. Then it fades, his mouth stings, and he just feels colder. “Jealous?” he asks.

Spock doesn't answer, though. Not at first. “You should not have come alone,” he says. “ - You should not have come here at all, but you would not have come alone were there any alternative. What has happened, Jim?”

Jim closes his eyes briefly. His cheeks feel numb. “Don't worry about it.”

“Captain - “

“You can consider that an order.”

“...I do not believe you are in any position to bring me up on charges, Sir.”

Despite himself, Jim sighs. “You're insubordinate enough that I could,” he murmurs without heat.

“Jim.”

The captain pauses. “ - They'll come eventually,” he says at length. “The Enterprise. It might take her awhile to get through, but she's coming. I promise.”

The horrible thing is, Spock probably believes him.

* * *

 

Jim thinks he does start to feel a little warmer by the end of the day. Perhaps this is just his imagination, but he is hopeful. He asks Spock for his opinion and the Vulcan looks back at him blankly.

“I believe it is warm,” Spock says distantly, and Jim feels his heart clench with joy.

This should have been his first clue.

* * *

 

There is no suitable shelter during the night so after only a brief rest they keep walking, struggling to keep warm through movement. Jim is tired, but Spock's stumbling pace starts to stagger quickly. Soon he is taking small, mincing steps. His legs won't bend properly – they don't want to move at all.

Jim holds him around to waist trying to pull him along and feels the Vulcan's heart fluttering like a butterfly.

“Perhaps we s-sh-should return,” Spock ventures suddenly.

“What? Why?”

“It is too warm,” Spock explains. He twists around and pushes his hand against Jim ineffectually; perhaps he is trying to make a gesture, or grab him, but his fingers are not cooperating. “We should ret-t-t... re... _return.”_

“It's not warm, Spock.” Jim is sure of that now.

“It. It is.”

“No, it's not. You know about this, Spock. You – you only think you're warm. You're not, okay? And you need to keep walking.”

“Vulcans do not...” Spock pauses. He doesn't seem sure what Vulcans don't do.

Freeze to death, Jim thinks. There's one thing.

“Spock, please.”

Spock tries. He does. But his feet tremble and slide away when he tries to walk. Only Jim's grasp keeps him upright. They take one step together – two, three. It is a labor of great effort and time. But finally even this teamwork is not enough. Spock's feet crash out from under him and he falls to the ground, lying dazed to stare up at the lightening sky.

Jim checks to make sure he's alright. “I suppose we can rest,” he says, trying to be cheerful. “ - We can watch the sunrise, Spock. That will be nice.”

Spock flicks his eyes to him and does not respond.

Jim pulls Spock against his chest because it doesn't seem like the Vulcan will be moving on his own. Spock tilts his face to curl further against Jim, keeping one eye turned toward the disappearing stars.

While they watch the sunrise, Jim finally tells Spock about how he really left the Enterprise.

Spock sounds faintly surprised when he says, “They... will take your commission.”

It's so honestly ridiculous that Jim has to laugh. Has to laugh to keep from doing anything worse. “I'm not – I'm not really worried about that right now, Spock. In fact it's the last thing on my mind.”

Spock twitches like he wants to add something, then sags back against Jim. Jim strokes his arm contemplatively.

“It will be warmer when the sun rises,” he adds.

Spock closes his eyes.

Spock's fingers are black and shiny as though they have been burnt. His ears have the same discoloration – it's a wonder he can hear anything. Jim reaches down to touch the peeling, puffed skin on the Vulcan's cheek. “Why don't you meld with me?” he asks. “If you can, Spock. That has to be more pleasant than this. Spock?”

The hum of their bond starts to flicker.

“ - Spock?”

Jim reaches down to put his hand over the Vulcan's neck, but his own hands are blue-tinged and stiff. He strokes over the artery on the neck, then presses down.

Nothing.

It's cold, he tells himself. Spock's pulse might be slow, weak, difficult to feel. Jim has lost most of the sensation in his fingers. He repositions his grip.

Spock's mouth is slightly open. Despite the cold, there is no cloud of vapor rising from his breath. Because he is not breathing.

Because he is -

Jim clutches convulsively at Spock's arm. No. People who have frozen can be revived – that's a medical fact. Even hours and hours later, they can be revived. It's happened before. No one is dead until they're _warm_ and dead – that's a morbid saying he's heard Bones throw out.

The Enterprise won't be back for days.

Jim folds Spock close and buries his face in the Vulcan's cold chest.

* * *

 

The day starts to deepen and Jim thinks: _three days._ The Enterprise will be just reaching the rendezvous point. Scotty will be turning the ship around as soon as the exchange is made, eager to return to retrieve Jim. And Spock.

Jim wonders if they will be found at all. Any shuttle sent after them will not detect life-signs.

The day transitions into night and the sky is very black. The stars blur together in soft pricks of glitter, far and distant. He can barely see them. Perhaps it is due to the atmosphere. Perhaps it is due to some unseen clouds. Or perhaps the stars are right here, alight and alive in his hands, and Jim cannot see them because he is -  


End file.
